From the time we clutch our first thick crayon, we as humans claim the unalienable right to create, to express what can’t be expressed with words. That’s me, washing my brush out in the tin can.
Art helps me understand what it is to be human. My marriage to the creative process has taught me to slow down, pay attention, listen to silence and know that sometimes words are not enough.
The making, the crafting of art, soothes, stimulates, quiets, engages, frustrates, calms and stirs my soul. That I never know what will come from this process is terrifying and electrifying. It makes me feel alive.
Art-making helps me process my world. I might even say art is my religion as my paintings are intuitive expressions of my search for meaning.
Planting a metaphorical seed at the center of my canvas, I loosen my attachment to a chattering mind and fold into the quiet of painting. I trust this dream-like process and try to spend as much time as I can in that place where the two worlds touch.